


In Another Lifetime

by alonsos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Argentina, FIFA World Cup 2014, Gen, Spain, World Cup, vague mention of gerlonso
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alonsos/pseuds/alonsos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In both universes Spain won. In this universe, they kept winning.</p>
<p>(Or, what they wanted the World Cup to be and what it never was)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before Italy knocked Spain out of Euro 2016. Especially now, I wish this was real more than anything.

There is a universe in which Spain did better. The horrors of 2014 never happened, and instead, their legacy is established once again.

In this universe, their golden age made it to Brazil. There was no poor start and they stood their ground against the Dutch, unlike how we know it. There was no 5-1 defeat and no Van Persie header. It was tough but in this universe they made it. They made it past the round of sixteen, past the quarterfinals. The semifinals are similar to darker times that we know as the present, but here they came out on the other side, ready to continue. Then, _then_ , they make it to the final. The world is in awe. Spain has the opportunity to turn six years of victory into eight.

At the World Cup in this universe, some things stay the same. Germany left Brazil shell-shocked. James Rodriguez charmed the world. Mario Gotze scored a dream goal. Argentina faced off in the final (but it was not Germany they shed their tears to). 

 

In this final, time passes agonizingly slow, but in the 58th minute a miracle happens. The air itself changes, becomes almost charged— Fernando Torres passes the ball to Xabi Alonso, who is desperate for anyone to be open, but the Argentinians are everywhere. _All blue but no red._ Somewhere he knows Messi is racing towards him, and knows he will inevitably lose the ball to him. Time slows to an impossible degree for a few precious moments and Xabi is aware of each heartbeat as though they were echoing around the stadium. In this universe, he is granted the opportunity of a few seconds’ time to _think._ He is taken back to a time when he is most happiest: memories of Liverpool and the sheer dumb luck of being young. Now as Xabi races down the pitch, he knows the best chance he has is to recreate some of that magic. 

_It’s time,_ he thinks. 

Xabi locks eyes with Sergio Romero: even from far away he can see Argentina’s goalkeeper tense up. Time is speeding up now, far past what feels normal. The adrenaline is like fire in his veins and is like scoring _that_ penalty in Istanbul all over again. Xabi almost doesn’t even feel in control anymore, it’s like he’s watching himself line up to take the shot, what a _beautiful_ shot. He kicks… Time slows again… And from nearly seventy yards out (at the World Cup _final)_ the ball sails through the air gracefully before slipping through Romero’s fingers and landing in the back of the net. 

Everyone stops for a split second before the _entire_ stadium explodes. The Spanish converge on each other. Hidden in the embraces of his teammates, Xabi has a goofy smile plastered on his face and he is twenty-five again. He hopes Steven was watching (a wonder goal, indeed).

“ALONSOOO _OOO_ —“ The commentator cries over the loudspeaker.

Argentina is in shock. Spain is _alive_ with glory. The game goes on.

In the 87th minute Sergio Ramos’ header makes it 2-0 and Lionel Messi silently puts away the hope of a win for Argentina. For now, it seems, Spain’s reign lasts. As the final minutes pass by the noise grows louder than Johannesburg by a hundredfold. 

 

The whistle sounds for the end and Spanish players collapse into a pile of red in the middle of the pitch. Iker falls to his knees with tears in his eyes as Iniesta and Ramos race towards him. Vicente del Bosque embraces everyone he can reach. Pepe Reina pulls the TV cameras close and shouts into them. Spain is triumphant, Spain is untouchable. They cannot comprehend anything else but the overpowering joy in their hearts. 

They pull away from each other after some time to pay respects to Argentina. For some, teammates. Friends. They do not regard Messi any less for the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. It could have been them after all, but in this universe it isn’t. 

After, the whole thing hits them again. The level of their success is paramount and they are giddy with it. They race up and down the pitch, screaming themselves hoarse as they call to the sea of red that makes up the fans. They link arms, wave flags, blow kisses. Xavi and Iker beam through their tears. Fernando cannot stop pulling Sergio’s forehead close to his and screaming at the top of his lungs. Pique, Jordi, and Cesc cartwheel down the sidelines. The cameras close in on Puyol and Morata lifting Xabi onto their shoulders as they sing loudly. _Victory._

For the second time in Spain’s history, Iker Casillas lifts the World Cup trophy to the sky with a howl as the red and gold confetti falls down around them. They can almost hear the echoes of Madrid from five thousand miles away.

“Is this better than 2010?” They are asked. _(The cities of Johannesburg and Rio themselves wonder which night will be remembered first.)_ Xavi sums it up nicely; “This is a continuation of the celebration. I wouldn't say it is better than four years ago, for the greatest moment of our lives is still going on.” He is pulled away from the interviewer into a group hug and the singing grows louder. 

To no one’s surprise, they do not quiet down by the time they race to the locker room. The alcohol starts flowing, music starts playing, the trophy is passed around repeatedly, and the toasts are overlapping bellows of joy. Everyone is incoherent with ecstasy and they all get _plastered_.   

The wild plane celebrations from Johannesburg have nothing on the flight out of Rio hours later. The entire team is in pieces with drunken, howling laughter as Iker launches himself over a seat to hug Iniesta again. Someone makes a joke about Sergio dropping the trophy and a shoe is thrown in their direction. A few of them think about how bad their hangovers will be but for now, they revel. 

Within a few hours of their flight most of the team has passed out. Some however, like Pepe and David Villa, still pass a bottle and sing quietly in the back of the plane, muffling their laughter with their hands. Several hours pass and Del Bosque tries not to smirk at the expressions of those waking up with hangovers. 

By the time they land in Madrid on Monday, they are too jet-lagged to remember to be hungover. Iker is photographed at the airport lifting the trophy and later, they all agree he wasn’t smiling, but grimacing in pain from his headache. (He is too tired to be mad at their teasing.) _I cannot believe this is happening again,_ he says later with a genuine smile. 

 

They have weeks of celebrations to look forward to. The official visits, the bus ride downtown, the people, the presenting of the trophy. _The beer, don’t forget the beer,_ Pepe reminds them. (Euro 2016 becomes the next threat, but two years is too far away to think about when their ears are still ringing from the cheers.) The excitement from the final whistle has not died down in the slightest, even as they exhaustedly collapse into the hotel beds. 

That night some of them dream bad dreams, of lost matches and fear and regret. Others dream good dreams, but not significant enough to remember... because no dream is better than the reality of the gold of the trophy, the sound of the crowd, that feeling of being _invincible_. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- I was thinking about [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfGp_6XP6_Q) goal of Xabi's from 2006
> 
> \- The [plane celebrations from 2010](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQYUmq317Co). Pepe Reina is a gift
> 
> \- You can't write about Sergio and a trophy without referencing him dropping said trophy
> 
> \- Despite the fact I changed everything but still wrote a loss for Argentina, Messi deserves the world. The look on his face at the World Cup final (as well as the Copa America final) crushed me.


End file.
